


Winter in November

by MDJensen



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Gen, Steve is not made for east coast weather, bed sharing, boys in Jersey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-26 20:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16688314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDJensen/pseuds/MDJensen
Summary: Steve is cold. Danny is upset. They solve both problems at the same time.





	Winter in November

The thing is, he’s not about to catch hypothermia. He knows that. He’s had hypothermia, like three or four times; it’s something that happens in very different circumstances from Danny’s parents’ house, with the heater going.

He knows that, but he’s still, like. Really cold.

Maybe it’s payback, for him not showing Jersey the respect it’s due; but in any case it’s not even technically winter yet, and it is 16 degrees out. _Sixteen_. And no, he’s not outside; he’s curled up in the top bunk of the beds in Danny’s childhood bedroom and it’s at worst maybe 55 in here. But telling himself that doesn’t help much. He’s literally shivering now, not sure he’ll be able to sleep at all tonight if he doesn’t do something about how cold he is.

There’s got to be extra blankets somewhere, but it’s hardly acceptable to root for them. But what he does have access to is his own suitcase, which contains extra socks and the sweatpants he brought and should have worn to bed to begin with—oh, and that pullover too.

Decision made, Steve pries his arms from around his belly and unkinks his knees, and eases himself down the ladder.

Forty-year-old bunkbeds, though, are not the quietest of beasts. The ladder gives a couple of squeaks and one outright groan, and Steve winces and holds his breath as he steps to the floor, trying to hear if he’s woken Danny.

Yeah, he has. Oops. From the bottom bunk comes a drowsy moan, then the shifting of blankets. Then, quietly, “y’okay, man?”

“Fine,” Steve whispers. “Sorry, buddy, go back to sleep.”

What he expects is complaining, or maybe an insult; at the absolute worst, perhaps, Danny will ask him what’s wrong. But what happens is none of that. What happens is that Danny goes perfectly still, the accompanying silence harsh and obvious in the small room. And then he sighs, and it’s slow and it trembles as it leaves his lungs.

Steve’s muscles tense and his stomach sours; he holds his breath, not quite sure what he’s listening for. But nothing comes. He forces himself to unfreeze, to root quietly in his suitcase for his warmer things. First he dons the pullover. Then slides sweatpants on over his running shorts, more socks on over his first socks, listening all the while for any further sounds from the bottom bunk. There are none. But the moment his foot touches the bottom rung of the ladder, he hears it: a soft, wet sniffle.

He freezes again. Stands, still shivering a bit, by the side of the bunk beds and feels realization spread like poison though his veins that Danny is crying.

Silently he thanks Jersey and its frigid weather, for the fact that he’s awake right now. And, oh—he can get warmer too! Two birds, one stone, all that.

“Fuck are you doing?” Danny yelps, not keeping quiet, nor making room as Steve climbs into the bottom bunk.

“Will you—will you shush? I’m trying not to catch exposure, if it’s okay with you.”

The response is a sigh of utter aggravation; but then Danny shifts, making space in the little bed. Steve tucks up beside him, though he keeps his arms to himself.

Despite circumstances, he drowses almost instantly, lulled by Danny’s body heat, which together with the extra clothes puts an end to the shivering. But he forces himself to remains awake. Listens, beginning to wonder if maybe he imagined, or overacted, but feeling in his guts that he did neither.

Confirmation comes in the form of another low snuffle. Then, Danny reaches back, gropes for Steve’s arm, and tugs until Steve drapes it around Danny’s waist. Steve shuffles a little closer. “Bad dream?” he whispers, trying to keep his voice light.

“No,” Danny croaks. “I just. I.” He stops and clears his throat. “I’m sleepin’ in this bed, yknow? And I wake up, but not all the way, and hear someone on the ladder. And I— I thought— it was Matty.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so Steve says nothing; just finds Danny’s hand, clenched up against his belly, and strokes it a little with his thumb. Danny’s body hitches. Steve feels him give in, sob noiselessly for a minute or two, then gradually pull himself back together.

“Wanna talk about it?” Steve offers, once the tears seem finished.

Danny swallows thickly; the blankets shift a little as he brings a hand up and wipes his face. “Nah.”

“‘kay.”

“You actually cold, or were you just sayin’ that?”

Steve huffs a laugh, burrowing closer. “Cross my heart, Danno, I was actually cold.”

“Heat’s on.”

“Is it?”

“Listen, you don’t even have air conditioning, in a place that regularly reaches ninety degrees, so. You don’t get to complain about other people’s thermostats.”

“Did you hear me complaining? I just wanted my sweatpants. I couldn’t sleep, that’s how cold I was.”

Danny sighs softly, reaches back to check that Steve’s under the blankets. (He is, as much as possible given their size.) “You, mm. Stayin’ here, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, take the blankets from up top, then.”

It’s one of the smartest things that Danny has ever said. Steve pulls away just long enough to reach up and tug down the comforter and fuzzy blanket and spread them over the bottom bunk. Then he curls up again. It takes a minute of both of them shifting and adjusting but once that’s done they’re fitted close together inside a nice little nest of bedding.

“Y’warm ‘nough?” Danny mumbles.

“Mm. Yeah.” The sound of Danny’s voice pulls Steve back far enough to realize that he was falling asleep in the first place. “‘s much better.”

“‘kay.”

“Hey. Wake me up if you need to, okay?”

“’m not gonna need t’wake you up, Steven,” Danny mutters. “I’m fine. Just a moment. You know.”

He does.

“Then shut your mouth and let me enjoy not freezing to death,” Steve replies, tugging Danny closer.

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have a little kink about Steve being utterly, utterly defenseless against New Jersey weather. I live in Jersey myself and when I checked the forecast this week, saw that we are indeed predicted to hit a low of 16 on Thanksgiving... and this was born. Yes, I know the boys did not go to Jersey for Thanksgiving. But maybe they will, someday. Anyway, hope you enjoyed... just a silly little thing to cheer myself up.


End file.
